


Puer Regis

by tlea



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Dean Winchester, Psychic Abilities, Psychic Sam Winchester, Sam Winchester Has Powers, Sam Winchester's Demonic Powers, Suicidal Sam Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Teen Winchesters (Supernatural), Young Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-23
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-15 02:26:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,180
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28930965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tlea/pseuds/tlea
Summary: With every headache, nose bleed and nightmare Sam had, anger grew. It grew so much that Sam was sure he had known nothing else and that he would never come out from it; only drown deeper and deeper until he was lost in it forever.orSince they were kids, something had always been wrong with Sam that Dean never wanted to admit.
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester
Comments: 4
Kudos: 35





	Puer Regis

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story I wrote (and deleted) in 2015 by the same title. Enjoy and comment please!!

Kids always had nightmares: dinosaurs invading their home, a monster under their bed, or simply being alone in a dark room. Sam never had those nightmares, though. At the age of five Sam had the same nightmare continuously, nothing else. He would always be laying down, and suddenly there would be fire everywhere, dancing on the ceiling and walls around him. He would hear someone scream his name, but he was never able to identify the sound of the voice, or the face who was always burning above him. He was staring at a blank face, engulfed by the flames.

He thought nothing of the dream for years. It's a nightmare. Nightmare's aren't real. At least he thought that until the age of seven, when the blank body above him, now had a face: his mother's. The nightmare started feeling more real. He would wake with watery eyes and a sore throat from the smoke. He could easily smell the smoke and burnt flesh as he was practically glued to the floor and had no other choice than to watch his mother burn.

It was just a dream.

Just a nightmare.

Nightmares aren't real.

Right?

\--

At the age of 10 he learned that you could dream memories. He had asked if memories could form into nightmares. The answer had been, "Of course." Maybe, he thought, that's what his nightmare could be. 

That day when he got home he wasted no time in asking, "Dean, why did mom burn on a ceiling? How does that even happen?" Obviously it had been the wrong thing to ask because Dean immediately tensed up and quickly turned around to face a confused Sam. 

"Who told you that?" Dean raised his voice slightly, because Sam wasn't supposed to know. He was _never_ supposed to know.

"Wha-?" Sam began, because what did Dean mean who told him? He hadn't even known he was right! It was just a stupid nightmare. Not real. _Not_ real. 

"How did you find out!" Dean demanded, borderline hysterical as Sam began to stutter.

"I-I..you mean I was right?" At first, the idea that this nightmare had been a memory brought a bit of comfort to Sam. It was exciting to maybe be able to understand why he was always having this dream. Now, Sam was scared. Dean was agitated and scared but clearly not wanting to show it. He shouldn't have mentioned it. He upset Dean. 

"What?" Dean scrunched up his eyebrows and stared Sam down harder. He wouldn't dare show it, but right now he was flipping the hell out. He didn't want to have the talk then, or twenty years in the future. He never wanted to have to talk about this, at least not to Sammy. Sam didn't deserve it. Not after everything.

"No one told me, Dean. I just...knew! I mean, I didn't think I knew, but obviously I did know." Sam rambled quickly, losing Dean along the way. Dean wanted to smack Sam and tell him to shut up, slow down, and make a hell lot of more sense, because he was seriously confused. The only coherent thought running through his mind was _Sam knows. He knows..he knows_.

"Sam, you're not making any sense." And that was the thing that was scaring Dean. Sam always made sense. And right now, he was making little to none. Know? What the hell did Sam mean by that? How could he possibly know!

Sam grunted out, annoyed, and spoke in what Dean thought was almost a panic, "Yes I am! I don't know how I knew, but I did. I did! I think it might be a memory or something... I've been having dreams..well nightmares-"

"Nightmares?" Dean's eyebrows made for his hairline as he looked at Sam. Sam always told Dean when he was having nightmares, or Dean at least knew somehow, but he didn't know about them this time. Sam was keeping things from him. That's something Sam never did. 

"Yes! I've been having them for years-"

"Years?" Dean practically barked, taking a step forward, trying to remain calm. It was hard, God it was so hard. Alarm bells were ringing in his head. Something was _so_ wrong but he couldn't even begin to pinpoint the problem. 

"Shut up and let me talk!" Sam yelled, "In all of them, I've been lying down and there's always a fire. And someone yelling my name and someone above me, burning. I just..I thought it was a normal nightmare at first. But then the nightmare started to become more detailed...realistic. I figured out it was a lady screaming my name, and I could smell it, Dean! I could smell the burning of the body, and it's awful. And I looked up and.." Sam tried to regain his composure, sighed loudly, and choked out, "It was mom, Dean. It was mom! That's not how she died is it? How could I possibly know or remember. How...Why-" Sam now had several tears streaming down his face. Dean wanted to puke. This had to be a memory for Sam, just a memory manifesting in the worst possible way. 

Dean's face had paled considerably. Sam was freaking out. Dean had to calm him down. How could he possibly do that when himself was freaking out? Sam not only knew, but he basically got all the details correct. That's what had Dean's chest tightening considerably. How could Sam possibly remember every little detail when he had only been 6 months old when he experienced it. 

At a young age Sam constantly asked, "Why don't we have a mommy, Dean?" or "What happened to mom?" and who could forget the "Dean, why did mommy leave us? Did she hate us?" Which Dean had responded, "Don't worry, Sammy. You've got me. I'm even better than a mommy." And that seemed to satisfy Sam. As he got older he knew better than to ask about mom. He had asked once and his dad had had a raging fit, started throwing things, and made sure Sam never asked again. He didn't.

Even if their dad had allowed Sammy to know, Dean didn't know if he would want Sam to know. How were you supposed to explain to your little brother that a demon had sneaked into his bedroom, to do who-knows-what, and mom had came to check up on him, and well the demon didn't like that very much, so he just decided he would cast mom upon the ceiling and let her burn right above his crib, letting him watch, while Dean was asleep safely in his room. How were you supposed to explain to your brother that he had seen his own mother die? In a fire. Caused by a demon.

But now he knew. From a nightmare, that he had been having for _years._. How could he possibly have remembered that night in full detail? That wasn't normal. Sammy _needed_ normal. He didn't need to be dreaming about his mom dying; he needed one normal thing in his not-so-normal, unstable life.

"Dean!" Sam practically sobbed, snapping Dean out of his thought filled haze, "Is that how she died!" He screamed, loudly, and Dean flinched.

_Sammy, you weren't supposed to know._

"Yeah, Sammy," Dean replied reluctantly, not looking forward to Sams' breakdown that was sure to come in .5 seconds. Sam hitched in a breath and seemed to freeze, eyes wide. His cheeks still had a glob of stickiness from the tears and his hazel eyes still shone from them as well.

"How-" Sam stuttered as he began to pace around the tiny room that they were currently calling their living room, "This isn't normal Dean. There's no way dreaming about your mom's death in exact detail is normal. What....Dean, why?" Sam had a billion questions but didn't really know how to ask them. All he really knew how to say and think was _Why me. Why can't the universe just leave me alone._

Dean walked towards Sam, placed both hands on his shoulders and bent down to his height, stilling Sam in place. "Sam." He spoke sternly, staring Sam down. "It's okay. You're okay."

"Not normal," Sam mumbled.

"Perfectly normal." _Lie._ Dean hated lying, but right then that really was for Sams benefit. He needed to believe everything was normal, because if he was told that he wasn't normal, he would dwell on it for weeks, months, hell maybe even years. He would never let it go. So right then he needed to be reassured. Told that he was normal. "I dream about things that happened all the time. You just got unlucky and only dream your nightmare of a memory. Sammy, it's okay. I promise."

Sam said nothing for a few seconds, just stared at Dean, blinking slowly. It was like he was trying to decide if what Dean said was true, "Don't tell dad." He was scared. Dad couldn't know. Dad could never know he knew. He'd be pissed. He would think he was a _freak._

_Not normal_

_Not normal_

_No matter what Dean said, he wasn't normal._

Dean frowned at Sam.

"Whatever you want, Sammy." The frown disappeared off Dean's face and it was replaced with a slight smile, "Just between you and me." Dean didn't know if he actually meant what he was saying. He had never lied to his dad or kept a secret from him. This would be the first and it was a pretty big secret, too. But Sam was right, their dad would flip. Who knows what he'd do, but it'd be best if he didn't find out.

"Promise?" Sam gulped and he looked like he was four again, his floppy brown hair in his face and his hazel puppy dog eyes pleading up at Dean.

"Obviously." Dean scoffed, and then quickly grinned, racing over to the kitchen, "Now. Do y'want pizza or subs?"

**Two years and one month later**

It'd been two years since they last discussed the dream. They both hadn't spoken of it since that night. Though, of course when Sam jolted up from what Dean assumed was a nightmare, he would simply ask, "Again?" And Sam would respond with a yes or no, and that was that. They never actually specified what they meant, but they didn't need to. They knew perfectly well what the other meant.

The nightmare had reoccurred less and less. It started off with him having it every other night, and then slowly over the months it changed to only two a week. Since his 12th birthday a month ago (which had been his best; Dean having turned 16 only months before had been given the Impala and he had driven Sam to the movies and then to a store to buy actual, new shoes), the nightmare now occurred once every other week. This had Sam breathing a big sigh of relief. There was just one thing that confused him. His mom now stared at him with bright yellow eyes and sometimes he could swear that she was smirking at him, like she was mocking him or something. Though, once he realized the eyes and the smirk, they would vanish a second later, causing Sam to wonder if they were even there in the first place.

They were currently residing in the Grizzly Motel of hot and muggy Louisiana. It was almost in the middle of June, meaning no school for either one of them. For most kids that would be the best thing ever, but for Sam and Dean it meant about the complete opposite. Summers were filled with early mornings, late nights, and training; lots and lots of training. During the summer they were either training, helping their dad hunt down some monster, or sitting in a run-down motel with shitty air-conditioning, complaining about how much their lives were sucking at the moment.

Sam, luckily, had been stuck researching the entire week. He had only had training twice the whole week, and he was almost ecstatic. The only shitty thing was that his dad had been mad at him for not being able to find more than a half a page worth of facts on some girl named: Maria Schildt, who according to her short obituary, died in 1941 for unknown reasons; just found her body in a unmarked grave. He tried to tell his dad that it wasn't his fault her family didn't care enough about her to write a proper obituary, or that her story wasn't interesting enough to fill articles of papers. He wouldn't have it, which wasn't a shock, and he just pushed Sam harder, barking him orders.

"You can't go to sleep until you have at least another page of facts or something useful, are we clear?" He had said and Sam didn't understand why he had to find another page of facts on a ghost. They knew how to get rid of her; it was just a simple salt and burn, why did he need to research all this crap? His dad had been as lazy as ever, seemingly putting in no effort. After ranting off to Sam he had left, probably to go to a bar, and Sam hadn't seen him since.

He wanted to scream. He had gotten all the possible newspapers on Maria, and he now only had five more facts than last time, and the stupid motel clock was now blinking _12:39_ at him. He'd been at this since eight in the morning, and he had only taken two breaks, one to eat, and one to use the bathroom. And to top it off he hadn't seen Dean all day. He left at noon to go who knows where. Why did Dean get to go have fun and Sam had to stay back and research useless crap?

Sam continued re-reading the papers, checking to see if he had missed anything, when a pain went searing through his head. He grimaced a moment, took a breath, and continued reading. The pain continued, increasing in pain as he highlighted sentence after sentence. The clock that read _1:02_ went unnoticed as he gasped out in pain, now fumbling for their bottle of Tylenol. He quickly unscrewed the cap and gulped down three capsules. He threw the bottle down and continued his research.

_Gotta finish. Gotta finish._

_Make dad proud. Make dad proud._

Throughout his chanting and concentration on the papers, he didn't notice Dean walk in, or hear the "Sam, why are you still up?"

Sam continued to highlight quickly, flipping the papers over feverishly. Dean closed the motel door with a loud thud, hoping it would break his brother out of his trance. When it didn't, Dean stared for a moment at Sam quizzically, and then took three strides over to his side.

"Sam," Dean barked as he shook Sam's shoulder, initiating a yelp in surprise to come from Sam.

"Holy shit, Dean. You scared me." Sam yelped, scattering a few papers, and subconsciously grasping at his temple with his hand. Dean eyed the papers and then spoke,

"Yeah, I can see that," He chuckled at Sam's spastic response. "Why you up?"

_Why were you gone?_ Sam wanted to ask, but he was having a hard time speaking with the pain that was currently going off in his head. His head felt like there was a band wrapped around it and he was positive that at any moment it was going to explode, spattering blood and brain all over Dean. 

"Sam?" Dean's voice dipped down low, coated in worry as he stared at Sam. The way Sam was currently clutching his head had him slightly concerned. "Why you up?" He repeated, slower. His big brother senses were going off. Something was _wrong_.

"Oh," Sam breathed, "I uh..." Sam hitched in a breath, trying to ignore the pain, "I'm researching stuff for dad." Dean narrowed his eyes and then began shaking his head.

"Okay, well its like one in the morning. You look tired and you don't need to be up at this time researching. Go to bed," Dean paused a moment. He quickly decided he needed to mention Sam's headache that he was so clearly trying to hide. "Do you have a headache? Do you need any medicine?"

"No I can't go to bed...dad said I have to finish before I can go to bed." Sam stated lowly, as he began re-organizing the astray papers on the table.

Dean sighed, laced heavily with agitation. Dad was keeping the poor kid up, for all night if need be, to find facts about a ghost. They already knew how to get rid of a ghost, so why was dad keeping Sam up? In fact, why wasn't dad at the motel with Sam? If Dean had known Sam was all alone he would've came home hours ago.

"Yeah, well, screw dad," Dean muttered, looking at his determined and exhausted sibling, "You need to sleep. Do you need medicine, Sam?"

"But-"

"Sam!"

Sam sighed, defeated, and slumped down onto the chair, "I don't need any medicine, I already took some."

"Alright, well go to bed, I'll cover for you tomorrow." Dean rubbed the palm of his hand over his face and glanced over at their bed. Sam smiled weakly, muttered a 'thanks', plopped down onto the bed, and was out in a minute, tops.

\---

_He was in a living room, that much he could tell. How he got there, he had no clue. He continued studying the unknown room when suddenly he heard a scream. He tried to snap his head towards where he heard the scream, but he couldn't move. He couldn't move at all. He heard the scream again, and he wanted to go help; do something._

_He blinked and when his eyes opened again he was in a different room. The fridge to his left indicated it was a kitchen. The room was dark except for one nightlight that was shining from the wall next to the counter. Suddenly, the screaming he heard earlier was loud in his ear and he whipped his head around to see that he was no longer alone._

_There was a lady with brown hair, who seemed to be struggling as she flailed wildly. He tried to ask, "What's wrong?" But nothing came out. What was going on?_

_T_ _he lady began to struggle more and that's when Sam realized the opaque figure standing in front of her. The ghost was belittling and taunting the lady and Sam could do nothing. He fought as hard as he could to get free, but he couldn't. His feet stayed glued to the floor and his arms felt like they were weighed down by bricks. He was stuck; He was helpless._

_When the ghost began to strangle the lady Sam knew he could do nothing to stop it. All he wanted was to shut his eyes, look away. He couldn't; His eyes wouldn't shut. They were locked on the two figures in front of him. Just like his arms and legs, his eyes felt as if they were being forced open, held there by some unknown force._

_Sam couldn't help but assume the opaque woman in front of him was Maria, which figures he'd dream of her after spending his whole day researching her. The lady being choked was almost passed out as her screams began to lessen, replaced by god-awful hacking noises, a tell-tale sign of a woman seconds away from death. Sam wished his ears could stop working._

_Without warning, the ghost of Maria seemed to change her mind. She released the lady, allowing her to suck in a deep breath of air. In a split second the ghost flicked her hand. There was a cracking sound as blood of the poor lady splattered all over the walls, floor, and Sam. Dead, soulless eyes stared back at Sam._

_Sam screamed._

He didn't realize he was screaming, or that he was thrashing around. He hadn't even really realized he had woken up...or that it was a dream. Was it real? It felt real. But it wasn't, it _wasn't_. He couldn't stop screaming.

"Sam, its okay. Shh, Sammy, just a nightmare. It's okay, hey.." Sam finally acknowledged the voice, Dean's voice, and that embarrassingly enough, his brother was cradling him. He sat up a little, making Dean loosen his grip. Dean gave him _the_ look and Sam shook his head.

"No, I'm fine. It was just a stupid nightmare from researching all day, I'm fine. Sam grumbled, trying to ignore the look Dean was giving him, and pushed himself away from Dean. He hadn't even realized that since he and Dean were sharing a bed, he had probably kicked him a dozen times and scared the living daylights out of him. 

"You were screaming," Dean stated, his voice low, while giving Sam a worried look. Sam knew what he was trying to say: _You never scream._

"Sorry for waking you," Was all Sam could come up with to say. He turned away from Dean and re-positioned himself on the bed, almost cowering away from Dean. He hoped Dean would understand he didn't want to talk about it. He'd only worry Dean, and worry from Dean always turned into pity and Sam hated pity. Especially from Dean. 

"I was already awake." And they both knew that was a lie. Dean always lied to make Sam feel better. It was silent for a while, the only noise being the sheets shuffling as both boys got comfortable.

"Night, Sam."

"Night, Dean."

Sam could still feel the blood splattering onto him; could see the emptiness of the eyes of the lady he was so helpless to save. 

Sam's head wouldn't stop pounding.

Sam didn't sleep.

Neither did Dean.

\---

The morning went slightly different than Dean had planned. Their dad had came back to the motel at about eight, but surprisingly to Sam and Dean, he was completely sober. He wasn't in the best mood, but all that Sam cared about was that he wasn't drunk. There was a better chance of him not getting as mad.

Dean wasn't as happy. Not that he wasn't glad that his dad was sober; that was fantastic. But Dean knew if his dad hadn't gone to the bar, he had gone somewhere else. But where? He didn't like when his dad left him in the dark, or when he left Sam all alone. 

"Where've you been?" Dean demanded the second John stepped foot inside the room. John took a moment to properly shut the door before glaring, and then responding to his eldest son.

"Do not speak to me like that, Dean." John barked back as he shoved past Dean and dropped his bag onto the floor. He glanced at the papers on the table, and the half-asleep Sam and opened his mouth to speak, but Dean beat him to it.

"Dad, where were you?" Dean asked again, taking a calmer approach. He was angry, but he wasn't stupid. He wasn't going to pick a fight with his father. John sighed and swiveled back around to face Dean. He scrubbed his face with his hand and spoke gruffly,

"There's been another attack."

This got Sam's attention. He quickly lifted his head from the table and looked at his brother and dad with wide eyes, "What?" He asked a bit too loudly, startling both John and Dean.

"Where?" Dean asked Sam's question for him.

"A house just a couple miles from here. Some lady in her thirties. I have to go back there real soon, I just came back to grab my badge. We're ending this tonight, Dean." Sam's heart beat quickened, remembering his dream.

But then, came to the conclusion, _Its just a dream. Its a coincidence, that's it._

"Dad?" Someone's voice spoke out, and Sam realized it was his, and crap, he hadn't meant to talk. His dad turned to him, looking a tad agitated, but waiting for Sam to continue. "Um..do you have any more details? Pictures from the, uh, the scene?" Sam asked slowly, hardly wanting to make eye contact with his dad. To his left Dean was eyeing Sam, wondering why on earth his baby brother would want photos from the 'crime' scene. Sam could barely watch a horror movie without throwing up, why would he want to see some photos that could be ten times gorier than some fake horror movie.

"Sam-" His dad rolled his shoulders and took a slight step forward. He obviously didn't want to deal with Sam at the current moment, or give him access to pictures that may make him freak a little. 

"Just..do you? It's important," Sam all but whispered, pushing himself up further onto the chair. His dad sighed once he realized he wouldn't be able to leave until Sam got what he wanted. They'd argue for hours if he didn't just tell him the rest of the story.

Dean continued to watch in the background, wondering why Sam wanted to know so bad. He almost wanted to stop his dad from telling Sam, until he heard the story for himself, but Sam obviously really wanted to know, and Dean didn't feel like dealing with a grumpy Sam.

John huffed as he dug through his bag, searching for the folder with the photos. He grabbed the yellow envelope from under other folders and threw them to Sam, who was still positioned at the motel's kitchen table. The envelope landed in front of Sam and the research papers fell to the floor, unnoticed.

Sam opened the envelope with shaking hands, slowly pulling out the pictures. He didn't want to look at them. He really didn't, but he had to know.

"Got there this morning and the emf radar was going crazy. The woman's neck was broken, blood was just about everywhere, I don't even know how all of that blood could have came out just from a neck breakage. .." His dad continued to speak, Dean was probably listening, but Sam wasn't. Hadn't heard a word since he had flipped the pictures over to study them.

The same blue-tiled kitchen stared at him, the blood on the walls mocking him.

No, _No._

He laid the picture aside and went to the next. It was of a body, and if you looked closely you could see the abnormal position of the neck. You couldn't see the face, though, and he didn't know if he wanted to.

He felt nauseous. What was that ringing noise?

With shaking hands he placed the picture aside and went onto another. Brown hair, brown eyes, and oh so dead, sad, eyes. He dropped the picture and stood up with a rush, scooting the table and chair away from him, the result being a loud bang. He couldn't hear the "Sam?" from Dean over the ringing in his ears as he dashed into the bathroom, immediately emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet.

_Oh god. I did this. I did this._

"Sam. Sammy!" Dean called out as he ran into the bathroom, dropping to his knees beside Sam. Sam hardly realized Dean was there. He was too focused on the fact that he had caused someone's death. That's what this had to mean. He had dreamt it..and it came true. It had to have been his fault. Even if he hadn't caused it, which Sam still had a gut feeling that he _ha_ _d_ , he hadn't been able to help. He had watched and let her die. 

"Damn it, Sam. I knew I shouldn't have let you look at those pictures." Dean sighed as he stood up to get a towel for Sam. Sam sat up and took the towel Dean offered.

"No that's not it," Sam responded shakily, as he wiped his mouth and then threw the towel onto the floor. Dean tilted his head, a silent question, and then sat back down on the cold, grimy floor with Sam.

"Then what is it?"

Sam panicked. He couldn't tell Dean. He couldn't tell his dad. He most definitely could not tell his dad. If he caused someone's death just by dreaming about it, that made him a freak, not normal, something was wrong with him. Supernatural wrong. Dean and dad killed not normal things.

Sam was now one of those not normal things.

They would kill him.

"I, uh I've been feeling sick this morning and the nausea just hit me all of a sudden." Dean looked at him, hardly believing a word Sam was saying. Dean put the back of his hand on Sam's forehead, wiping his bangs away.

"You don't feel like you have a fever."

"Food poisoning?" Sam suggested weakly, a hint of a smile showing on his face.

Dean licked his lips and sighed, "Yeah, okay." He paused, eyes flicking over Sam's face, "You sure it wasn't-"

"No, it was not the pictures, I promise." Sam smiled wide, "I'd never lie to you, Dean."

"I know you wouldn't, Sammy." Dean stood up, put his hand out for Sam to take, and pulled him off the ground.

Dean quickly forgot about the pictures.

Sam didn't.

They left Louisiana three days later.

**\---**

Sam wishes the dream had been a fluke. That it had been some freaky coincidence. That maybe he had seen the lady around town before or something and that's why she popped up in his dream. He had spent months trying to convince himself that maybe, after everything, he was normal. 

It had been nearly a year since Louisiana. He had almost convinced himself, until it happened again. The dream was just as detailed and terrifying as the last one. And like the last one, and the nightmare with his mom, he was helpless to it all. 

He was in what he assumed was an abandoned factory or warehouse and there was a little girl cowered in the corner, crying for her mother. 

"Oh no no no" Sam thought, wishing his feet would respond to his brain and rush over to the little girl. Sam felt his heart drop to his stomach as the girl's eyes lifted to meet Sam's. The terror that was there would haunt Sam for the rest of his life.

"Help...me," She whimpered, barely audible as her whole body shook. She was still staring directly at Sam.

"Wait-" Sam stuttered. "Can you see me?"

Her mouth opened, as if she was going to respond. Before words had the chance to leave her mouth, her head was hacked clean off by a set of sharp claws. 

_"FUCK!"_ Sam screamed, leaping out of his bed, retching. His eyes burned at the light that was turned on within seconds of him shouting and he was quickly made aware of the pounding in his head.

"Shit, Sam!" John shouted, leaping from his bed. Dean had quickly followed and been the one to turn the light on. Dean could tell his dad was agitated, but worried overruled the agitation as he watched as his youngest son muttered nonsense, looking borderline hysterical. 

"Dad, I've got this. Go back to bed." John eyed them both wearily, but was still clearly too tired to argue. With that out of the way, Dean rushed to Sam's side. 

"What the hell, Sam?" Dean muttered, grasping his arm and shaking him lightly. He still seemed to be out of it. Sam winced in pain which caused Dean to give him a quick glance over. He quickly realized that there was blood rushing from Sam's nose. "Shit," He muttered. "Bathroom." 

When the two of them made it to the dingy motel bathroom, Dean was quick to stanch the blood flowing from Sam's nose with a towel. "Dude, what was that?"

"Nightmare," was all Sam could mutter. He looked like he wanted to cry and vomit all at once. Dean was silent for a moment, giving Sam a quick moment of peace that he probably needed. 

"Haven't had one of those in a while," Dean noted, prying for more. He pointed to Sam's bloody nose and then the temple that Sam was currently grasping. "Your nose is the freaking Niagara Falls and I'm gonna guess your head is killing you by the way you're grasping it. That was one hell of a nightmare." 

Sam brushed his finger down his chin and over his lips where blood had fallen. He stared at his finger a moment and seemed to be thinking something over before he spoke. "What if I have brain cancer?" 

Dean couldn't help but laugh, because, what? "Dude, what? We're talking about your nightmare here, don't try to change the subject."

Sam rolled his eyes, pushing harshly at Dean's arm that was holding the towel under his nose. "I can hold my own towel," he muttered, then continued, "I'm serious. I've been having these horrible headaches. Like they hurt so bad, Dean. And now nose bleeds to go with them, Dean? That doesn't sound good." 

"You don't have brain cancer, Sam."

"I could." 

"You don't." Dean stated firmly, doing his best to hold in his laugh that was dying to come out.

Sam couldn't take it. The throbbing in his head was only increasing, and Dean's voice felt as if Sam had a gun pressed against his head. And god, Sam knew it wouldn't happen but it felt as if all his blood in his body would seep out his nose. He _hurt_. He was terrified and he didn't know how to explain it. "Well something is wrong with me!" Sam snapped, causing Dean to take a step back. Another wave of pain washed over him and he had to hold onto the counter to steady himself.

Dean was worried, how couldn't he be? Sam had been acting weird for months and he always seemed to have aches and pains. Dean had managed to brush it off as teen hormones. Sam was 13, every 13 year old had aches and pains and a grumpy attitude to match it. But this wasn't good. He could tell Sam was scared but he didn't know what to do about it and that had every big brother bone in his body screaming.

"Sam, I don't know what it is, but you'll be okay. Okay, I promise, we'll figure it out."

\---

With every headache, nose bleed and nightmare Sam had, anger grew. It grew so much that Sam was sure he had known nothing else and that he would never come out from it, only drown deeper and deeper until he was lost in it forever. Dream after dream came. They came when he was sleeping and they had started coming when he was awake, too. His thoughts were killing people. He didn't know how or why, but he was killing people, or he thought he was, at least. Either way, he was watching innocent people be ripped apart monthly and he couldn't take it. Everywhere he went, he felt this... static energy. He felt energy from Dean and his dad. From the books around him, from himself. He felt _evil._ He was surrounded by evil and he desperately wished there was a way to make Dean understand. The evil was around him, it was coming for him. It was _becoming him._

Sam and Dean had been relaxing, watching tv together as they waited for their dad to get back with dinner. Something was building and building in Sam, and he had to let it out. He had to let Dean know, no matter how painful it would end up being. He played with the napkin that was laying on the coffee table before he abruptly stated, "I'm so angry, Dean," breaking the moments of peace they had been having. 

Dean looked over at him quizzically. "About what dude? That was kinda outta left field." 

Sam wanted to scream. "How do you not have this much anger in you? There's so much to be angry about. God, this stupid fucking world." Sam growled, getting on his feet to pace around the room. Somehow, it helped him clear his thoughts a little. He so desperately wanted Dean to understand. 

"You're 13, almost 14 Sam. That's normal. I'd be a little worried if you weren't angry." Dean chuckled, taking a swig of his beer as he watched Sam begin to pace the motel room.

"No-you-" Sam snapped, grasping at his hair as he stomped on the floor like a child. "It's not like that, Dean. You don't get it, I'm _angry._ I'm so fucking angry. It's terrifying." 

Dean's half smile immediately fell as he carefully placed his bottle down. Sam was visibly shaking. "Okay, Sammy," Dean coaxed, as if he were talking to a frightened animal. "What are you angry about? Come on, dude, you gotta talk to me." 

The energy that Sam was now so used to feeling was building around him, and it easily mixed with the anger that had made its home within him months ago. it was urging him to just _let go._ "I shouldn't exist. Don't you get it? I'm _evil._ I killed mom" Sam watched as Dean faltered, clearly taken aback by Sam's statement. "I'm a freak, Dean. I'm one of the things that we hunt."

As if on cue, Sam could feel as blood began to drip from his nose. If he wasn't so angry, he'd laugh. He took the sleeve of his shirt and wiped viciously at his nose, even though it was no use. It would keep flowing until his anger subsided. He was sure that one day his anger would never go away and he would bleed to death out of his nose. 

"Okay, Sam. Calm down. You're not making any sense," Dean stepped forward which prompted Sam to take a quick step back. "You're getting yourself so worked up you made your nose bleed." Dean eye Sam carefully. He didn't want to make any sudden movements and potentially scare Sam off, but he so desperately wanted to bring Sam as close as possible and hold him until Sam was okay again. "You're not evil. And you definitely did not kill mom. I don't want to hear you say that ever again, you got it? You had nothing to do with it. Is someone spouting this bullshit to you, Sam? Because I promise it's not true."

The laugh that had been building inside Sam was finally let out. He'd rather let it out then burst out in tears. He was probably terrifying Dean, but he didn't care. He was so past caring. "I dream of people dying, Dean! Days before it happens. Sometimes I'm sad it happens, but you wanna know the scary part? It's gotten to the point that I don't care anymore. I'm fine with letting it happen. Sometimes it feels like I'm the one doing it. I can feel their bone crushing in my hands and I hear them screaming, but _I don't care._ I look in the mirror and sometimes I see yellow eyes looking back at me, just like the ones that killed mom. I can't explain it, but I can _feel_ the thing that killed mom. I understand it and know it. It's me and I'm it. It sounds ridiculous but I can feel it, Dean. I'm being sucked in and I don't think I can get out."

"Hold on!" Dean shouted, completely overwhelmed by the onslaught of Sam's words. Every single sentence was new information and it was extremely difficult to process. None of it made a lick of sense and Dean couldn't help but think Sam had gone off the deep end. Somewhere along the line they had exposed Sam too much to the supernatural world. He was a sensitive soul and now it was destroying him. His brother was hurting deeply; he had been for months and Dean hadn't noticed. God, he hadn't noticed it at all. Sam tried to butt-in again, but Dean smacked his hand against the brick wall. "Sam! Hold on!" If things had been a little calmer, if Dean didn't feel as if he were in the middle of a hostage negotiation, he would've notice the windows vibrating, ringing softly. 

"What, are you going to say I sound crazy? Fuck you, Dean!" Sam's voice cracked as he screamed angrily, practically spitting at Dean. Within moments of him screaming, the windows around in the motel vibrated loudly, causing both boys to glance sharply at them. Within seconds the vibrating abruptly stopped before exploding, sending particles of glass flying everywhere. The shattering of the glass matched the ferocity of Sam's shout and somehow, the anger in Sam's chest lessened. Sam knew, then. 

Dean jumped at Sam, pulling him away and ducking down. "What the hell!" He cursed, protecting them from the rainfall of glass. Once the room had been silent for a few seconds and Dean was sure the glass was done falling, he released Sam and glanced around them. "What the hell," He repeated. His eyes were wide has he examined that every window and glass piece in the motel room had exploded into tiny shards of particles on the floor. He looked slowly at Sam, his heart tightening and sinking to his stomach as his brain makes the connection that he wishes it wouldn't. Everything had exploded right after Sam had shouted. He glanced at Sam's face. He looked numb; defeated. His chest was heaving and he kicked the glass on the floor with his barefoot before Dean could stop him. 

Sam chuckled, licking at his lips as all light seemed to leave his eyes. "See, Dean. This was me. I did it." He looked up at Dean and suddenly he looked so young. "I did this. I did this." Sam became a broken-record as he muttered the same line over and over. Dean wanted to cry. He wanted to look up at the God he knew didn't exist and ask "Why?" Dean stepped back toward Sam, pulling him in, placing Sam's shaggy hair under his chin. "I did this, Dean. I did this, I'm evil, I told you. I told you," Sam repeated, and Dean could do nothing. His brother was stuck and there was nothing Dean could do.

"You're okay. You're okay, it's all okay," Dean lied, holding Sam tightly against his chest as Sam released a year worth of tears. Dean was never going to let go of him again.

\--

Knowing he was home alone, Sam quickly wrote a note, simply stating:

**Sorry, but I killed those people. So I might as well do this for you. I can't stop this any other way.**

The note floated down onto the table as his fingers danced along the shiny gun.

_Goodbye_

Sam lifted the gun and got a bullet to the brain. No one noticed the quiet be filled with a boom, or see the blood paint the bathroom walls red.

There was silence.

Until Dean returned.

He screamed. He cried,

_Why Why Why_

The second boom sounded.

Then there were none.


End file.
